The Other Egg
by Scarabbug
Summary: It was found on the banks of the Silver River, sitting in the hollow of an upturned mushroom. No one ever said the task of a parent was an easy one.
1. Chapter 1

**A one shot. Needs work. Am posting for posterity.** **Standard disclaimers apply, reviews and concrit are aprpeciated. Set in the "Legend of Spyro" continuity. **

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The Other Egg.

_"You _are_ our real son... it's just that you came from somewhere else." _

It was found on the banks of the Silver River, sitting in the hollow of an upturned mushroom.

"The Silver River", Maabeth had realised long ago, was probably a whimsical choice of name. Her people had lived by the river all her life, constantly subject to its whims and currents. During the autumn months, the cloudy waters would curl around the banks in a dim shade of green. During the summer, it was peaty and brown, warmed by the thick, alluvial mud. During the winter, the cold would freeze it solid in the hills, so that by the time it had flowed far enough downstream to reach their village, it was icy cold and virtually clear, and early in the morning, at the rising of the sun, its surface would glitter with gold, whatever the season.

Never once had the river appeared the slightest bit "silver" to her. Then again, she supposes she isn't one to talk: names had never been her forte.

"Sparx", for example, was a very common name, and yet that was the one she had chosen for him. She liked it. The name was common specifically because if _fitted_ so fell. He looked like a Sparx. He behaved like one, even now, so soon after birth. Green in colour, but soon to be blue like his father, or perhaps gold, if he took after his elder greatmother and had picked up some of that mayfly blood that was mixed up in her genetic line. His skin was already glimmering, his wings were strong and firm, and he was showing signs of being an early flyer.

She supposed it was genetic. Her family had always taken to the air very easily. They had to, living so close to the rivers where those who didn't fly soon enough were likely to drown in floods or deluges.

She had been hovering close to the river bank, thinking about her new child and how they were going to cope with the winters, with another mouth to feed, when she first noticed the other egg. Though in truth, Thon noticed it a while before she did.

Thon had pulled her close as they approached it. It lay in the mud and mushrooms, looking for all the world like a strange coloured rock. Granted, it didn't look very much like an egg at all –too large and bright and solid looking– but Maabeth knew it, nonetheless.

It felt alive. It sounded _alive_.

_'Don't touch it; dear, we don't know where it's been...' _

_'Then where on earth did it come from?'_

_'I'm... not certain. Somewhere else. Somewhere far away.' _

Thon spoke quietly and uncertainly and with none of the usual confidence he displayed around that with which he was familiar. Nervousness was in his nature but truth be told, she was a little afraid herself. She had never seen anything quite so strange in their swamp before. Never seen anything so bright that it caught the golden glimmer of the morning light and reflected it into her eyes. It's surface is mottled like the skin of a frogweed, rather than smooth.

Something beat beneath its surface.

When the cocoon trembled and creaked with pressure from the inside, Maabeth found herself thinking again of that morning, and of her child's first breath. She found herself wanting to reach out and touch it.

Her husband was more nervous about it than she was, but that was understandable. He came from the Ancient Grove, after all, where poison beetles skulked and tree spirits would uproot themselves to hunt down any unwary dragonfly that strayed too far from his nest. It was in his nature to be cautious, especially about strange objects, drifting into their swamp as if on the direction of someone else.

Certainly, _somebody_ had had to upturn that mushroom head...

_'Thon? Is it alright?' _

_'Yes, I'm sure it is, try to calm down, dear.' _

_'It is still moving, isn't it? You can still hear its heart...' _

_'Sweetheart, we're not even sure what it _is_, yet. Why don't we worry about that first, hm? Why don't you check on Sparx. I won't leave it alone.' _

_'But—' _

_'Dear.' _

_'...Alright.' _

They chose to move it inside, mainly because of the apes. The creatures seemed to be everywhere these days, and would tear apart anything they thought they might be able to eat the insides of. For some reason, Maabeth couldn't stand the thought of leaving it to be ripped to shreds by those hungry monsters. Not that she blamed them for being hungry. Life was hard and hunger was just another part of that, but she did care about their wanton cruelty.

_'Be careful, don't knock it.' _

She was as gentle with it as she could be, as gentle as she ever was with Sparx, who was now perched safely out of the way in the upper branches of the Water Weeper where they had made their home. The egg sat below him, but still there wasn't _quite_ enough room.

As a child, Maabeth had been picking frogberries from bushes and playing in the swamp pools while Thon had been trying to keep away from poisonous grove mites and Swamp Dogs that would have hunted him down and chewed him up the moment they became aware of him. Anything unusual did not last long in a place like the Ancient Grove. That which did not fit in with its surroundings could not survive.

_'...Actually, it would probably be pretty well camouflaged there, being purple, like it is... not out her. Out here, it's lucky we got to it first.' _

_'Do you think it's... will it hatch, do you think?' _

_'I would imagine so. It seems to be. It... ah...' _

_'What?' _

_'Well maybe bringing it inside wasn't such a good idea.' _

They were of two different worlds, and Maabeth knew all about the strange and unworldly from the stories her husband had told he. And yet this creature, this egg, was like nothing that either of them had seen or heard of before.

And then the surface **_cracks_. **

Maabeth feels the hatching come in advance, almost as if on a new-mother's instinct.

_'Oh, my...' _

Its first breath was the same as Sparx'. Except for the fact that she was close enough for the strength of it to tug her wings. It's alarmed, scared, shocked by the coldness of the world outside its shell.

It was purple. Its eyes were the same, when it opened them for one, brief moment. Perhaps it even had wings, but at this moment, she couldn't be sure. Its skin is the same as the surface of its shell – dark and mottled and occasionally glistening.

Purple.

Never in her life had Maabeth ever encountered a purple dragonfly, but this fact changed nothing. It was born into their family, after all, wasn't it? "_Born in the roots, it shall be raised in the tree_"; Maabeth knew the old saying. He was born to them, so he was theirs. Despite the... strangeness of their circumstances.

There was nothing more to be said than that.

_'I... thought perhaps you'd like to choose.' _

_'Me?' _

_'Why not? You found him first.' _

_'Now, dear, you know I'm no good with naming; I was fresh out when we came to Sparx. It seems alright. It's... looking at you.' _

_'Yes, I noticed.' _

_'It saw you first. You know what they say about things like that.' _

In truth, the only name which rally comes to her mind is "Spyro".

It was the name of a cousin. It meant "to breathe life", amongst other things. Another moniker which she thinks is quite whimsical. How could anything breathe while encased in that hard, cold, purple shell?

Well. Something, apparently, could.

Definitely not a dragonfly. As if it's size hadn't been evidence enough. But it hatched from an egg within the roots of the tree they called home. Surely that was all the rule they needed.

_'Doesn't look like an early flyer, does it?' _

_'I know... I don't even really care that it's probably lulling me into a false state of security.' _

_'Oh, Thon, it's a child. It's supposed to lull people into false states of security. How else could they survive?' _

_'They couldn't, of course... it couldn't. Not out there in the swamps. Particularly not with the way the apes have been behaving lately.' _

_'...Thon, we can't just _abandon_ it, no matter _what_ it is.' _

And so they didn't.

They named him Spyro. This is where the story begins.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Wow. I don't think I've ever updated anything so suddenly before, especially not when it was originally meant to be a one-shot. Well, anyway, explanations for this chapter/continuation occur at the end of the chapter. I hope you enjoy it. **

**I figure Spyro and Sparx are fairly young, here. Mentally, in human terms, I'd guess they were roughly seven or eight years. Standard disclaimers and requests for concrit apply.

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**

On Naming.

His nose wrinkled, the way it always did when he was attempting to understand something complicated. It had taken her a while to appreciate the inherent... cuteness of the gesture. Now it always made her smile. 'So... two names? '

'That's right,' she said. 'We all have two individual names. One of them we're given straight away, the other we're given far later.'

His claws scratched at the dirt, impatiently. 'Why?'

'It's... a very personal thing, Spyro. You share your other name only with your closest, and only when you're old enough to truly understand it's worth.'

'You're mom, right?'

'Yes, but it was never my name. It's just what you call me.'

'So it's your other name?'

'No dear. You don't know my other name yet.'

'You're not Maabeth?'

Maabeth smiled as she continued to check his wings, something which took a lot longer time that it did with Sparx. Their purpose, it seemed, was decorative, or perhaps for balance: they didn't appear to function, and Spyro showed no signs of ever flying. Still, she continued to check, mostly out of habit, the way all mothers did. He didn't mind, though these days it was becoming harder and harder to get either of them to remain still while she did so. She had taken to telling them stories and tales to distract them as she did. Today, she had brought up names.

She was starting to regret it.

'I _am_ Maabeth, but I'm someone else, too. The problem with names, Spyro, is how important they are, and how unimportant at the same time.'

'Unimportant and important?' This really appeared to mix him up, he bristled, moving his wings sharply as he did so. 'Mom, how can it be both?

She paused. It was a difficult think to explain to explain, even to a child as unusually bright as her own. 'You know,' she said carefully. 'They say that the problem with a lot of people is that they don't know who they are. They believe that this is why we have names. Because we have to call ourselves something, to make up for not truly understanding.'

'But... you _don't_ think that,' Spyro guessed and Maabeth smiled to let him know he was correct.

'No, I don't. I believe it's quite the opposite, in fact. Names are your embodiment.'

'Your what?'

'Embodiment, it means that... they are who and what you are, all packaged up into one word. Like... the way entire trees are packed into small seeds. Do you understand?'

He nodded, as if he understood though Maabeth wasn't entirely certain that he did. Usually if Sparx didn't understand something he would keep asking questions until he got an answer he was happy with. Spyro was not nearly so open. His questions were few and far between. Maabeth suspected there were many things he didn't understand, and preferred not to wonder about.

'You see, Spyro, other people say that everyone has two people inside of themselves. Just as the world has a daytime and a night. I suppose...' she paused, smoothing over a scale on his back. 'That in that case, we have both a day name, and a night name. We use our day names to speak with each other. And our night names for important times. Important moments in our lives. '

'Like... when we were born.'

'Yes, like that.'

'Oh... I think I get that.'

He seemed satisfied with that. At least for a while. He was silent and remarkably still while she continued her checking. She knew the places he was ticklish or easily hurt, and always avoided them. The fact that his wings were not like others went without saying. They didn't glimmer with transparency, and each one was practically her height by now, disproportionate to his body, they could not support his weight in the air, though she had seen him trying many times. He always failed and fell to earth. His antennae were not antennae at all. If she had to call them anything, she would probably use the word "horns". And he was growing larger by the day.

Strangely, almost frighteningly alien. Sometimes Maabeth didn't wonder that the neighbours were often... concerned about him. They would mutter and cast anxious glances at the children and wonder out loud: "just where had he come from?" they would ask. How could they claim him as their own? More to the point, how could they _fit him_ inside of that tiny Weeper they called home?

Maabeth merely smiled at these questions. Thon would scowl privately to himself. "All gifts come with a price", he would say resolutely, and this was how he accepted his son's... differentness: the same way he accepted all things which he knew he could not change. Maabeth's way of accepting it was simply to smile and get on with things. He was their son. He had hatched in their home. He had seen her first through his bright and beautiful violet eyes. There was nothing more complicated to it than that.

Still, neither of them wanted to entertain the thoughts of Spyro growing any bigger than he already was.

'...Mom?'

'Yes dear?'

'I lied, I don't get it.'

...He was not like them.

'It's alright, Spyro. You don't need to understand it just yet. One day you will.'

'...Okay.' He didn't sound entirely satisfied, but when it came to non-answers, he usually wasn't. And he had a lot of questions that couldn't be answered. 'Mom?'

'Yes dear?'

'What's my other name?'

Maabeth paused. It was at moments like this, that the sheer strangeness of the relationships within their family struck her. Here she was, explaining the purpose of dragonfly names to a creature which was not even truly a dragonfly.

In a strange sense, it felt as if she was lying to him. '...We aren't sure yet. Sometimes you don't find your other name for a long time. You'll have to wait until it comes to you.'

'Oh... what about Sparx? Does he have one yet?'

Maabeth considered not telling him, but only for a second. 'We already gave him another name, yes. He found one very early.'

'Well, what is it?' he flickered his wings impatiently; Maabeth ignored the fact that their rough surface skims her palms. She had long since grown use to such accidental pains.

'Well, you know how he looks when he's confused or surprised and wants to know the answer to something?'

'...His name is Blue?'

Maabeth laughed. 'No, dear, not exactly.'

'I thought not,' Spyro frowned. 'You can't be named after a colour right? You always said stuff like that isn't important.'

'Yes, you're right,' Maabeth nodded. 'It's never important, what you look like. What matters is what's inside. What's inside of Sparx is energy and confidence, and the strength to fly for miles if he has to.'

There was a silent pause, and Maabeth, as if embarrassed at having admitted such a personal though, even to her own child, went back to silently checking his wings. The swamp appeared to stir slightly, and she noted the approach of the evening wings. She sued her wings to note the careful change in direction o the breeze and sun in a way she knew Spyro would likely never be able to.

This evening, the breeze bodes confusion and change and things she didn't want to think about. It had been that way for a few months now. 'So... what is it?' Spyro asked, impatiently, and Maabeth realised, she had forgotten his question.

She humoured him, sweeping round to his face and glancing left and right as if someone might be watching from the trees. Spyro smiled, interpreting it as the joke it was supposed to be 'Come close, I'll whisper it.'

So he did –as carefully he could. The older he became, the more he seemed to be aware that the wrong kind of movement might hurt someone far smaller than himself. It was a realisation that was as much a relief for Maabeth as it was a concern.

'Oh... yeah. Yeah, that makes sense for him.' He reached up, scratching an ear with a back foot in a strange, but intriguing gesture that she had seen Sparx try to imitate – and fail. Clearly it was a quadruped quality only. 'So how come you know his but you don't know mine?'

'It's different for everyone. Names are a strange thing, Spyro. You can't change them if you get them wrong, so we have to be very careful while picking yours.'

'Is that because I'm not like Sparx?'

Maabeth frowned, stroking a wing gently. It was a strange quirk about her son. He never compared himself to the others he knew – the dragonflies or other creatures in the swamp. Instead, he would compare himself to Sparx. If he believed something was wrong with him, he used Sparx as a representation of what was right. 'No, not at all,' she said firmly. 'We've said many times that we won't compare you to each other like that, Spyro. You are who you are... some people are just a little...'

'Different?' Spyro finished.

Sometimes, she thought her son was brighter than he appeared. Bright enough to know how he stood out despite their every attempt to make him fit in. There was a still silence and then, to break it, and to change the subject. Maabeth asked. '...Shall I tell you me other name, Spyro?'

His wings and head perked up a little. 'What is it?'

'Promise me you won't tell anyone. It's special to us only; you, and spar and your father.'

'Won't tell anyone, I promise. Dragonfly's honour.'

To her credit, Maabeth didn't flinch or hesitate one bit.

'When I was a child, I had a bad temper But sometimes I could do good things with it... my mother said I had a strength about me, because I was always so sure and bold... so they called me i Nina /i . The name means fiery-temper.'

Spyro paused for a moment, seemingly thinking, his eyes quite wide, as if he had just been told something of incredible importance. 'Remember,' Maabeth warned, 'no telling anyone. It's our family's secret.'

'Can I tell Sparx?'

'Yes, you can tell him if you find him before I do,' he probably would, she surmised. Sparx hated wing checks, and Spyro was often the only one who could seek him out of hiding whenever one was due. 'But only him, remember?'

'I remember, mom,' he skitted away about then and she was forced to give up in her wing-checking task, or else risk losing her own wings to an accidental swipe of horns. 'I promised.'

'Then that's all I need, Spyro,' Maabeth smiled evenly. 'A dragonfly never breaks their promises.'

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**The day-and-night name, you might have guessed, is inspired by two things. The first thing it's inspired by is the fact that I didn't know Spyro's parents "real" names (or for that matter whether they had any), and thus guessed at them, only to discover their true names later, after gaining the information of his mother's real name from Rassak Mecotl, and looking up his father's in Wikipedia. **

**The second factor which this chapter was inspired by was the concept of yin and yang. The idea was often connected with the symbol of the dragon. Dragons in China represented both power and wisdom, peace and violence, day and night. This was represented by the highly popularised symbol of the half black (yin, peace, night) and half white (yang, energy, day) circle. **

**In this sense, Spyro is his day name. Maabeth (aka Nina) has chosen not to give him a day name because, instinctively, she feels that she is not the one who should . Because the ones who would give him his other name, she feels, are those to whom he was originally born before he came to them. Spyro is a dragon, not a dragonfly. Nina doesn't know what her son is, but she knows that he is not a dragonfly, and is likely from a very different culture to their own. Maybe one where people are not given second names. **

**So what is Spyro's second name, you might ask? Well perhaps it's the one that would have been given to him had he hatched in the dragon temple. Maybe it's one he would have chosen for himself... maybe we'll never know. Or maybe we will. **

**Also, the name "Nina" means "fire" in Quechan. This is Spyro and Sparx's mother's "canon" name, supposedly.**


End file.
